


Touching Bottom

by stone_in_focus



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Eventual Relationships, M/M, Mass Effect 3, POV Kaidan Alenko, POV Second Person, Pre-Relationship, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 20:24:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stone_in_focus/pseuds/stone_in_focus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe this time around, you'll get it right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touching Bottom

Sometimes, you have to remind yourself it isn’t pointless. The small things, the mundane things; the  _did I really become a spectre for this?_  things. When the datapads and the half-empty coffee mugs litter your desk, it’s all too easy to read between the lines and see those numbers charting a course towards nothing but a dead end. And if you’re feeling particularly cynical after a beer or two, it’s hard not to get the sense that you’re throwing resources right down the drain.

But it keeps you busy, filling out forms and writing up reports. When Dad’s MIA and Mom’s out there all alone, you tell yourself that’s the real reason why you do it—because you have to believe that the small things matter just as much as the big things.

Sometimes, it feels like the small things are all you have left.

There’s a slight chime at the door before it whooshes open, and in steps the asari justicar—Samara, you remember Shepard saying—who looks just about as startled as you feel. Her eyes spot the couple of open crates you’ve been living out of the past week or so. “My apologies. I didn’t realize this area of the ship was occupied.”

You’re not sure why you keep putting off the unpacking, especially when traveling light means it’d only take you all of ten minutes. The  _Normandy_  was once your home for the greater part of a year, and coming back aboard should feel like reuniting with an old friend.

Feels more like having to break in a pair of shoes all over again instead.

It’s not till she speaks up a second time that you realize you’ve been snapped back to reality. “I thought I might visit my old quarters from when I stayed on the _Normandy,_  if you don’t mind.”

"Nah, it’s no trouble," you assure her with a wave of the hand, setting your work aside. "I was just banging my head over some fiscal figures, anyway. I could use a distraction." The irony isn’t lost on you as you snort under your breath. A distraction from a distraction, is that it?

You watch as Samara makes her way towards the starboard observation window, and it’s almost as if the justicar… _glides_  as she moves across the room. Which is amazing, really, considering what happened back at the monastery. You can’t imagine that someone like her would have anything other than the burden of a hundred worlds on her shoulders, yet she carries herself with a kind of quiet grace that, if you’re completely honest with yourself, you’re more than a little jealous of.

There’s a few things in recent history you wish you could’ve handled a bit better.

"About your family…" you begin to say as she clasps her hands behind her back. "I don’t know how much it will mean since we barely know each other, but I wanted to extend my condolences."

Something seems to stir in her chest before she turns to you, and even though there’s a warmth in her eyes, you can still hear the weight that nearly betrays the steadiness of her voice. “Thank you, Major. Your sincerity is appreciated.”

All you can offer is a nod, and it doesn’t feel like enough. Goes for a lot of things these days.

"They have the incredible view when you were here?" you ask, uneasily shifting into a crossed-armed stance as you lean against the wall, hoping you haven’t made the conversation awkward. "It’s new since I’ve served on the  _Normandy._ ”

You’re good at that—making things awkward. And maybe there’s a small grin that creeps up on your face when you think about how Shepard would say, “My only idea of awkward is being caught under someone’s boot with my gun tossed to the side, so you’re still all right in my book, Alenko,” but you can’t help but wonder what’s really running through his mind.

The commander comes off as the sort of person that presents himself at face value. No bells, no whistles, and don’t let all his quips about his hardware fool you—just six feet of hard work and common sense. But then there are times he’s…would you use the word enigmatic, maybe? Those times where he’s asked you to share a good stiff drink in pleasant company; where the lights are a little dimmer and the edges are a little softer and hell, the lines are a little blurrier because you don’t know if your CO’s just made a pass at you with the way he’s cocking that eyebrow or if you’re only imagining things.

But that was back when the Reapers were a joke to most of the galaxy, and whatever tension there was between you two—or wasn’t, because Shepard’s just that kind of guy who talks in plainspeak and makes you feel like an honest human being—was never acted upon. Even if you didn’t have the regs, the job always came first.

Now, though, with whole systems falling like dominoes and not knowing what the rules even are anymore…well, it’s got you thinking differently. Wondering if there really had been something there in the midst of all that contemplative silence, ice clinking against glass with that slow burn pooling in your chest. Or if you’re only trying to pick apart Shepard’s brain because you  _want_  there to be something more.

Maybe you’re the one who needs your head examined. Because even if there was a chance once upon a time, you’ve probably screwed it up already. Holding someone at gunpoint and basically accusing them of treason (twice) can’t exactly have a  _positive_  effect on relationships.

Yet, here you are, standing aboard the  _Normandy_  again after—you wanna say _years,_  but in actuality, it hasn’t been that long. Guess there’s something about grieving over someone’s death only to witness their resurrection that gives you the sense you’ve lived more than one lifetime. Hell, you’ve had a couple narrow escapes yourself. Really shouldn’t be any shock, then, that you’re already getting those damn gray hairs.

You wonder what else has changed when you weren’t looking.

A slight flush warms your cheeks when you realize you haven’t paid any attention to anything Samara might’ve been saying, but oddly enough, she appears to be content to spend the time stargazing, regardless of whether you’re a terrible conversationalist.

"Has a way of filling you with a humbling sense of awe, doesn’t it?"  _And yet you feel like you’re gonna be swallowed whole at the same time,_  you almost add.

She doesn’t respond right away, and you’re beginning to think that maybe she figures it’s more of a rhetorical remark. That is, until she suddenly says, “Something is troubling you,” and it feels like a snap-freeze in your bones.

You try your damnedest to muster a reply, clearing out the cobwebs when you cough. “Heh. That obvious?”

"You question whether you truly belong here."

She glances back at the open crates, and there’s an attempt at a one-shouldered shrug. You wanna tell her that it’s not as simple as she’s making it out to be, but the lump working its way into the back of your throat is starting to prove otherwise. “I mean, I…I  _want_  to be here. It’s nice, being back with some of the old crew again.” You paw at the back of your neck. “But, yeah…I guess you could say I feel a bit out of place. Out of sorts, maybe.”

"You don’t believe it will last."

You nearly wince, like a hammer just got a little too close to your thumb. “Is anything really certain these days?”

"No."

It’s the obvious, but that hadn’t stopped you from hoping to hear something different.

"Listen…" you slowly pace the floor, scratching an itch on the underside of your chin, "I don’t mean to be rude or intrusive, and if you don’t want to answer, I understand. But…your family. Is it still worth it in the end? Building something for yourself only to have it taken away from you again?"

"The life I’ve chosen does not come without sacrifice or its share of regrets. But I knew this from the moment I took my vows as a justicar. As did you when you became a soldier."

You hate yourself for even thinking it, but it’s all too easy to go from the mindset that  _it’s never enough_  to  _when is it ever going to be enough?_

"I have many fond memories of my children. And in the end, those memories will be all that remain. I cannot tell you what your memories are worth, and at times, even the most priceless will not be able to fill the holes left behind by the people you love." She then nods towards you, and you swallow with more difficulty than you’d like to admit. "You must decide for yourself what a memory will be worth."

You squeeze a thumb into your palm. The  _will be_  hasn’t gone unnoticed.

"You look surprised. You were expecting me to offer some comforting wisdom."

"Isn’t that what the asari are known for?" You play it off as a joke, but…yeah. You wouldn’t mind a little enlightenment knowing just how dark it is out there.

"I’m afraid I don’t have the answers you’re seeking, Major." Samara turns to leave, but not without an exchange of well wishes and one last piece of advice. "Perhaps going to the source of your questions will grant you solace."

Yeah. Figures she’d say that.

You’re not ready when you find Shepard portside at the  _Normandy’s_  bar. Not ready to start all over again. Not ready to feel like you’re the only person in the room when he’s talking straight to you. Not ready to be head-over-heels in love with a man whose absence burns like a hot iron to the gut.

Not ready to say hello only to say goodbye.

But even as you hear him mumbling something to no one in particular about being off-duty for at least five goddamn minutes, it doesn’t stop the chuckle under your breath or the tingle tugging at your stomach. And when you pull up a stool next to him, there’s still that flicker of recognition in his eyes you remember from those nights you’d stay up drinking to a better future. Only he’s not calling you Lieutenant and you’re not calling him Commander anymore.

"Hey, Kaidan."

"Hey, Shepard."

You don’t even get through the first shot of whiskey before you realize you two haven’t missed a beat, picking up exactly where you left off. In spite of everything, even with a few more scars this round, Shepard’s still the same guy—all the same soft lines when the lights get dim; the same quirk at the edge of his mouth that loosens something in your chest when he loosens his collar. And as his knee bumps yours, his teeth biting back a smile, all you can think about is what a damn fool you’ve been. He’d been holding on the whole time, and the only thing you had to do was let him reel you in. Let him lean into you when he’s warm and you’ve had too much to drink. Let him brush a thumb across your knuckles when your nose grazes the square of his jaw. Let him kiss you when you’re finally ready to touch bottom.

Because…yeah.

About those small things.


End file.
